


in my head i do everything right

by lesbianryuko



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Dimiclaude Exchange (Fire Emblem), Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, M/M, Mentioned Blue Lions Students (Fire Emblem), No Byleth, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), The Golden Deer's Plea, Time Loop, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:06:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27904951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianryuko/pseuds/lesbianryuko
Summary: It is the 30th of the Garland Moon.It has been the 30th of the Garland Moon for seven days now.—Dimitri is forced to relive Claude’s death at Derdriu over and over until he can find a way to save him.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 8
Kudos: 127





	in my head i do everything right

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dreamyghost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamyghost/gifts).



> hello!! this was written for the wonderful dimiclaude mini gift exchange! my giftee was dreamyghost, who requested a time travel fix-it wherein claude keeps dying in a battle and dimitri keeps trying to save him! byleth doesn't exist in this because i wanted to focus on dimitri being stuck in time rather than byleth using their divine pulse. i had so much fun with this, i really hope you enjoy!!!
> 
> title from "supercut" by lorde because i'm mentally ill

Dimitri wakes up on the morning of their mission at Derdriu with a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach.

It is the 30th of the Garland Moon.

It has been the 30th of the Garland Moon for seven days now.

He supposes he deserves this after everything he’s done—to be forced to relive that fateful battle over and over again, always giving him a glimmer of hope that this time might be different, only for it to be dashed away just as quickly.

Claude von Riegan. Former leader of the Golden Deer House, current Sovereign Duke of the Leicester Alliance. A friend from Dimitri’s Academy days, and then something more than a friend.

Dimitri still sometimes lies awake at night, mind whirling at the memory of Claude’s lips against his in the shadows of his dorm room. He remembers Claude trying so desperately to break through his fog of rage and obsession in the month after Edelgard revealed her identity and declared war. He remembers how sad Claude looked when their eyes met, and how he hid it so well from everyone else.

He remembers how he never got to say goodbye, never got to apologize, never got to tell Claude what he meant to him, and likely never will—because today, the 30th of the Garland Moon, Claude von Riegan will die.

He will die, either directly or indirectly, at the hands of Dimitri’s uncle, Volkhard von Arundel. Sometimes, his dark and deadly magic wraps itself around Claude’s bleeding body, squeezing every last breath from his lungs. Sometimes, it’s Arundel’s underlings that take him out, their sheer number overwhelming him; they look at him like he’s got a great big target on his back, and he can’t shoot them down all at once.

Either way, the Empire’s forces reach him before Dimitri can. Hilda fends them off, stronger and more determined than Dimitri ever could have imagined her to be, and Judith cuts through the city without even stopping to breathe, and Dimitri fights like he actually cares what happens to him for once—if he can just stay alive for one more day, just long enough to reach Claude, just long enough to say everything he wants to say—but it’s not enough. It’s never enough.

Dimitri isn’t sure which he’d prefer: for time to move forward, forcing him to reckon with the fact that Claude is well and truly dead and that nothing can be done to bring him back; or to be stuck in this hellish loop for eternity, watching the man he’s come to love die over and over.

For now, though, all he can do is pull himself together, don the guise of the strong and confident leader, and make for Derdriu once again.

—

Once they start to close in on the Aquatic Capital, the grimness and dread that’s been hanging over Dimitri’s head dissipates a little. With the rising sun casting an almost blinding reflection on the water, he reminds himself, as he has the past few loops, that Claude is not dead yet. Right now, his heart is pumping steady like a drumbeat in his chest, calm even in the most undesirable of situations, eyes searching the horizon for the Kingdom flag that will, hopefully, herald his salvation.

Dimitri prays they won’t let him down this time.

At this point, he’s practically memorized the report from Gilbert about the Alliance’s situation. He’s never been good at acting, so he suspects that the words he’s repeated several times now don’t exactly ring the way he wants them to. A few times, people have asked him why he doesn’t seem surprised at everything going on. It’s lonely, being the only one stuck in this loop, the only one who remembers.

Everyone is exactly where Dimitri expects them to be: Claude backed into a corner at the harbor, Hilda guarding the bridge, the Empire’s troops deep in the city, now forced to fight on two fronts. The wheels in Dimitri’s brain have been spinning incessantly all morning, sifting through all his failed attempts at saving Claude, searching for a solution. Though it would be advantageous to weaken the Empire by taking out their supply corps, Dimitri can’t afford to spare anyone to go deal with them, and they won’t pose a huge problem if left alone.

Soon, everything snaps into place, the fear and despair from before now gone, replaced by a burning determination. Dimitri starts barking orders.

“Gilbert! Dedue! Lead the main forces,” he commands. “Make sure Judith does not fall. If at all possible, capture the gates to block reinforcements from getting through. Ignore the supply corps for now.”

“If we’re leading the bulk of the troops,” Gilbert says with a squint, “then where will you be, Your Highness?”

At that, Dimitri calls, “Ingrid!”

Ingrid and her pegasus appear in front of him almost instantaneously. “Your Highness!” she says. “What is it?”

He doesn’t waste time. He doesn’t have much of it. “Allow me to ride with you.”

Ingrid blinks rapidly, clearly taken aback by his request. “ _What_?”

“Flying is the only way to reach Claude in time,” Dimitri says. His voice shakes just slightly, betraying his emotions.

Ingrid notices and nods firmly. She looks like she’s itching for more information, but she just pats the back of her saddle and says, “Let’s go, then.”

She doesn’t ask him what he meant by “in time.”

Dimitri hops up onto the saddle. The pegasus whinnies in surprise at the extra passenger, but Ingrid quickly soothes it. Dimitri calls out a few more orders, and then they’re off.

It’s certainly unnerving, flying high in the sky, but it’s not the first time Dimitri has done so—in their Academy days, Claude once took him for a ride around Garreg Mach on his wyvern. He can still clearly remember how Claude’s braid whipped in the wind, how he broke into laughter at Dimitri’s inexperience.

Dimitri swiftly adjusts to the height, his grip on his lance never shifting; it’s not much different from riding a horse, after all. Ingrid steers the pegasus as if she was born for it, dodging slews of arrows as they make for the port. Once or twice, they pause and swoop down to take out a few particularly troublesome archers, but most of their time is spent fighting off other fliers who likely didn’t expect to be met with _two_ lancers, one of whom is the soon-to-be King of Faerghus himself, who by all accounts has never ridden a pegasus in his life, let alone into battle. Stranger things have happened, though—Dimitri knows this intimately.

Once the skies are mostly clear, they race the rest of the way across the city and over the ocean to the port. Dimitri can see Claude in the distance: close, but not close enough; alive, but for how much longer?

By now, the main forces have pushed farther into the city with Judith at the forefront, tearing through enemy after enemy. It looks like they’ve captured the west gate, but Imperial reinforcements still spill through the other two. Even in this mess, it’s not hard to spot Arundel, all dark and regal armor atop a large black horse, taking down soldiers with a single burst of dark magic. Instinctively, Dimitri kicks lightly against the pegasus’s sides, urging it to go faster.

As they approach the harbor, Dimitri’s gaze never strays from Claude, positioned at the center of the main platform, hovering just above the ground on his wyvern. He isn’t injured too badly, but he moves stiffly; his wounds from Gronder likely still haven’t healed all the way. He needs all the help he can get.

“Claude!” Dimitri shouts as they swoop down.

Claude glances up, and Dimitri thinks he can see surprise in the furrow of his brow, before he quickly covers it up with a genial smile.

“Finally,” he says. “Give me a hand, will you? I’m kind of stuck between a rock and a hard place here.”

With the ground just beneath him, Dimitri leaps off the pegasus and lands on the platform. He forces himself to look away from Claude and return his attention to the matter at hand. They’re not out of the woods just yet.

Within minutes, Dimitri can tell that Arundel must have given the order to funnel their efforts into defeating Claude; the Imperial troops suddenly shift their focus from fending off the Kingdom forces to reaching the harbor. Soon, the bridge will be overwhelmed.

“Get ready, Claude,” he warns, stepping forward and readying his lance. “I fear this will likely be a bloodbath.”

“Already on it,” Claude replies from behind him. “I gotta say, though, you’ve shown…a surprising level of foresight, Your Majesty.”

Despite everything, Dimitri chuckles. “What’s that supposed to mean? Are you complimenting me or insulting me?”

“You just seem…different somehow,” Claude says.

Dimitri isn’t sure if he means different from five years ago, different from Gronder, or something else entirely. He’s always been a clever one, though. He can probably tell there’s something bigger going on. But would he even believe Dimitri if he told him?

No matter. He’ll deal with that when the time comes. _If_ the time comes.

On the other side of the bridge, Hilda swings her axe in an increasing frenzy, beating back Imperial soldiers left and right while archers support her from behind, but Dimitri can see the exhaustion seeping in and the blood trickling down her arms. He rushes forward onto the bridge, intending to help her out, though he never strays too far from Claude.

At that moment, Judith appears on the other side. She and Hilda exchange words briefly, and then Hilda retreats and sprints across the bridge, her eyebrows raising in surprise when she passes Dimitri. She takes shelter next to a healer several yards behind Claude.

_Thank the Goddess._ Dimitri doesn’t know her well, but he’d hate to see her die…again.

Judith takes Hilda’s place on the bridge, and Dimitri steps forward as the soldiers approach them. He can see his own troops in between all the red, thinning the Empire’s forces from behind. Everything is going according to plan, but Dimitri doesn’t dare let himself get comfortable. Claude’s safety—or anyone else’s—won’t be guaranteed until Arundel is defeated.

They come like a wave of armor and flesh, and Dimitri and Judith lunge and slash almost in unison, despite their differing weapons and fighting styles. Men collapse into pools of their own blood or fall off the bridge and into the water. They grunt and yelp, hiss and gurgle, shout and moan and cry. Dimitri hates the sounds, but they’re not enough to make him stop. Not with these stakes. Not when he knows exactly what will happen if he falters.

As Dimitri fells another enemy, someone calls, “Your Highness!”

Dimitri shoots a glance in the direction of the voice. It doesn’t take long to spot the source: Dedue.

“Lord Arundel is advancing quickly,” he says as he approaches Dimitri. “He will be here at any moment.”

This is it, then—the moment that will decide everything. Dimitri hopes he got it right this time.

“Focus only on taking him out,” he tells Dedue. “But be cautious. His dark magic is incredibly potent. At its peak, it can kill a man in one blow.” _I’ve seen it._

“Understood,” Dedue says. “I will inform the others.” Then he disappears back into the fray (an impressive feat, considering his height).

The Imperial troops fight with vigor to get to Claude, their commander’s orders no doubt ringing in their ears, but they’ll have to go through Dimitri and Judith first—that is, if they even manage to get to the bridge in the first place without being taken down by another Kingdom soldier. They’re keepers of the harbor, guardians of the bridge, and none shall pass.

Whenever he has an opportunity, Dimitri looks back over his shoulder at Claude to make sure the fated killing blow hasn’t already happened somehow. Claude launches arrows from atop his wyvern, but he’s not as fast as he usually is, and he winces whenever he draws the bowstring back—a shoulder wound not fully healed, Dimitri would wager.

A flash of bright blue blasts the ground nearby and sends stunned Kingdom soldiers flying. Dimitri can see him coming now, the source of the lightning magic: Lord Arundel. His uncle. His enemy.

As his horse carries him forward, like a king struts before his subjects, or like a criminal marches to the executioner’s block, Arundel eyes Areadbhar, pointed straight at him.

“You would raise a weapon against your uncle?” he says, contempt dripping from every word. “You’ve grown into a savage of a man, just like your father.”

Dimitri shakes his head. They’ve had this exchange before in other loops, and he doesn’t have the patience for it.

“This is no time for words, Uncle,” he says, conscious of the double meaning of the word _time_ as it slips out of his mouth. “There will be time for that after we have settled things here.” _I hope._

Arundel’s eyes narrow to slits, and he raises a hand, a signal of the spell to come. Dimitri leaps forward, out of range of the dark magic, and thrusts Areadbhar toward Arundel. His horse dashes out of the way so that the tip of the lance only grazes him.

Judith jumps in on Arundel’s other side, sword at the ready, and manages a gash in his arm through his robes before a blast of lightning forces her to dodge. From the corner of his eye, Dimitri can see the other Kingdom soldiers attempting to reach them but stalled by Imperials blocking the way to their commander. Dimitri tries again and lands a blow to Arundel’s shoulder, deep enough to be inconvenient, but not enough to kill or even incapacitate him.

One Imperial attacks Judith from behind, pulling her away from Arundel momentarily to deal with the trouble. In those few seconds, there’s an opening, and Arundel sees it too. He seizes the opportunity and makes for the entrance to the harbor.

“ _No!_ ” Dimitri shouts.

As the horse gallops onto the bridge, Dimitri lunges. Areadbhar pierces Arundel’s back, and the horse skids to a stop. Dimitri can feel his weapon going through flesh, and he pushes it in more, watching as the tip of the lance exits Arundel’s body through his chest. Then Dimitri pulls it back out again, and Arundel sags against his horse’s neck.

Even so, he glances over his shoulder at Dimitri, blood starting to drip out of his mouth. Behind him—or, rather, in front of him—Claude climbs down from his wyvern, Failnaught still in hand and an arrow still nocked, but judging by the way he crouches on the ground, he’s not in any condition to fight. Judith arrives to block the bridge once more, and Dimitri follows suit, never taking his eyes off Arundel. He lowers his bloody lance.

“It’s over, Uncle,” he says.

Arundel grits his teeth, but there’s still a hint of a smirk left on his face. “Yes,” he says. “It _is_ over.”

Even before he raises his hand, Dimitri knows. He knows, and he won’t let it happen. Not again.

He nearly drops Areadbhar as he sprints across the bridge. This is not a blow Claude can dodge, not in his current state. Claude, too far away to have heard their words, narrows his eyes. Under his feet, Dimitri can see the black swirl of Hades, the ultimate dark magic spell, building. Claude glances down, tries to step forward, out of the epicenter, but the pull of the magic is strong even under normal circumstances. For Claude, who’s already having trouble moving properly, it’s all but paralyzing.

It happens so fast.

Dimitri leaps, shoves with all his might (which is a lot), and watches as Claude stumbles out of range of the spell and falls to the ground a few yards away—bruised, certainly, but he’ll live.

The last thing Dimitri hears before the darkness consumes him is Claude screaming his name.

—

When he wakes up the first time, his head is in someone’s lap, and they’re brushing his hair out of his face, whispering something Dimitri can’t quite understand. His whole body burns, but he can feel another pair of hands resting on his chest—healing magic flowing from their fingers to his flesh—and hear a soft, trembling voice tell him it’s going to be okay. Mercedes.

He opens his eye, squinting against the sunlight as the memories come back to him. He can only see the tops of buildings from this angle, but he can tell they’re still in Derdriu; in fact, he thinks they’re still in the harbor. Has it only been a few minutes?

“Dimitri?” A voice in his ear. Hopeful. Relieved.

Claude.

His head in Claude’s lap. Claude’s fingers running through his hair. Claude whispering fervently, as if in prayer.

Dimitri coughs, and a bit of blood spurts out, trickling down his chin. Mercedes wipes it away with a cloth, as though she was expecting it.

“Claude,” he breathes, his voice raspy. “You’re safe.”

Above him, Claude covers his mouth with his hand and makes a muffled sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “ _I’m_ safe? You nearly get yourself killed, and you’re worried about if _I’m_ safe?”

“Well,” Dimitri says, “we came here to save you, after all.”

Claude’s bottom lip trembles. He’s trying _so_ hard not to show too much emotion, not in front of all these people; he has an image to maintain. Besides, they were never public about their affair at the Academy. A few close friends, like Sylvain and Hilda, figured it out, but most people have no idea of the bond between duke and king, and are now watching in stupefied silence.

“Arundel,” Dimitri says. “Is he…?”

At that, Claude regains his composure and nods. “Yes,” he says quietly, and Dimitri thinks he hears a hint of relief in his voice. “That spell took the last bit of life out of him, it seems.”

Part of Dimitri wishes they could’ve gotten more information out of him, but he knows—based on Arundel’s behavior in previous loops, as well as his general demeanor—that he probably wouldn’t have given them much anyway.

Darkness pushes at the edges of his vision, and he closes his eye. He’s tired, so tired.

“Dimitri?” Claude says. “Hey, Dima, stay with me, okay?”

Dimitri wants to say something, anything to reassure him, but he barely has enough energy to twitch his fingers. He just needs to sleep. He just needs to…

“Dimitri? No, don’t go back under. Please, Dima, you just have to stay awake. Dimitri. _Dimitri!_ ”

—

Dimitri doesn’t know how long he drifts in and out of consciousness. He registers people moving him, and muffled voices crowd his ears, but he can’t make out any of the words. Sometimes, it’s bright, the sun burning through his eyelids. Sometimes it’s darker and cooler and quieter. Pain burns dull and hard through his body, like the embers at the bottom of a fire that refuse to go out. That’s as far as he gets to awareness before he passes out again.

When he finally wakes up, for real this time, he’s in a tent, wrapped up in a makeshift bed. It’s lighter again, and his throat is on fire.

As his vision adjusts to the lighting, he spots a figure sitting on the ground in the corner: Claude. His head is lowered, both his hands resting on his forehead, and his fingers twitch and pull at his hair. Books lie open around him, but he’s not reading any of them.

“Claude,” Dimitri rasps. It hurts to speak.

Claude’s head shoots up, and his eyes widen. He crawls over to Dimitri’s side. “Dimitri!”

Dimitri coughs. “Water,” he says.

“What? Oh, yeah, of course,” Claude says.

He digs around for a moment before producing a small canister and flipping the lid open. He pours the water into Dimitri’s mouth, and Dimitri drinks until it’s completely gone. He sighs as he feels it soothe his burning throat, and Claude brushes a few stray droplets off Dimitri’s chin.

“You’ve been out for a whole day, Your Kingliness,” he says, a teasing lilt to his voice to disguise whatever emotions he’s feeling. “No wonder you were so thirsty.”

_A whole day?_ Which means…

“Oh, thank the Goddess,” Dimitri murmurs.

It’s over. He’s saved Claude, and now the loop is over. He can finally move on from this nightmare.

Claude frowns. “What? Why?”

Dimitri shakes his head. “I’ll explain later. I’ve had…a bit of a rough week.”

Claude snorts. “Tell me about it.”

Up close, Dimitri can see the bags under Claude’s bloodshot eyes. He knows that look well from seeing it on his own face, and it’s something that easy smiles and witty remarks can’t hide.

“You haven’t slept,” Dimitri says.

Claude just shrugs. “How could I?” He takes Dimitri’s hand and squeezes it. “If you had died for me, I don’t know if I could have lived with myself.”

Dimitri chuckles. “Well, if _you_ had died, _I_ wouldn’t have been able to live with myself,” he says. “So I suppose we’re even.”

Claude’s face breaks into a smile—a real one, one that reaches his eyes, not the one he puts on for others. He leans forward and presses the softest kiss to Dimitri’s lips.

Oh, how Dimitri missed this feeling.

His body is weak, but still he reaches his hand up and rests it on Claude’s cheek. His arm trembles from the strain.

When Claude pulls away, Dimitri says, “Claude. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Claude’s eyebrows knit together. “Sorry? For what?”

“For scaring you,” Dimitri says. “Not just now. I mean every time. At Gronder, five years ago…all of it. I apologize profusely for making you worry.”

Claude blinks, his eyes suddenly glistening. “I—Dima, you don’t have to apologize for that,” he says.

“I do,” Dimitri says. “I was hurting, but I also caused a lot of grief for others, and I am deeply sorry about that.”

“I understand that part,” Claude says, “but you don’t have to apologize for _worrying_ me. I mean, that’s what you do when you care about someone, right? You worry about them. You’re concerned for their wellbeing. You want them to be okay.”

Dimitri remembers how, for the past week or so, he’s spent every waking moment worrying about Claude’s wellbeing, trying to find ways to save him.

“But,” Claude continues, “if it really means that much to you, then I accept your apology.”

Dimitri allows himself a smile. “Thank you, Claude.”

Then he realizes something.

“Wait,” he says, “what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in Derdriu?”

“Uh, yeah, about that,” Claude says, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, I’ll explain everything later. Basically, yeah, I wasn’t planning on joining you guys on your trek back to Garreg Mach, but then you went and scared me half to death, so I thought I’d tag along to make sure you were okay. Speaking of which, it’s morning, so we’ll probably get moving soon. I think they wanted to give everyone some extra rest. Mercedes was working for hours to make sure you stayed alive.”

Dimitri nods. He supposes they both have a lot to catch up on, but for now, what they really need is rest.

“You should try to get some sleep while you can, then,” he says.

“That’s rich coming from you, the man that never sleeps,” Claude says. He’s got a point there. “But I’ll try. For you.”

He grabs a blanket from his little corner of the tent and curls up next to Dimitri with it. Dimitri rests his head on Claude’s chest and closes his eye. He can’t help it; after so long without such a kind touch, he’s starved for it, seeking out Claude’s warmth like a flower seeks the sun. It’s comforting, the steady rise and fall of his chest, rhythmic like a metronome and constant as the hands of a clock—never stopping, never faltering, always moving forward—and as Dimitri falls asleep to Claude’s soft breathing, he takes comfort in the fact that he’s finally done something right.


End file.
